The Journal, Volume 1
by Engage Fiction
Summary: Brynne Larence Andrews, a native of the 21st century, became stranded in the past while on a mission to the R.M.S. Titanic. Written by her own hand, this is an account of what became of her life - her journal.
1. April 16, 1912

_April 16, 1912_

_R.M.S. Olympic_

_12:15 p.m._

_I have no idea where to begin. I suspect I'm in shock. The Titanic sank, but I expected that. What I didn't expect was for it to sink an hour early, or for several ships to come to our rescue, or for the loss of life to be a fraction of what it had originally been. These and a lot of other questions continually circulate through my mind as I realize that they may never be answered to my satisfaction. _

_Tom and I ended up on the Olympic. The Titanic's sister ship wasn't carrying the maximum number of passengers, fortunately, but once Titanic passengers were taken aboard, conditions quickly became crowded. I insisted that the passengers take priority over me for cabin space, especially beds, but both the Olympic's doctors and Dr. O'Loughlin insisted that Tom and I accept a cabin because of my injury. Speaking of which, I still have a mild headache, but I'm much improved from yesterday._

_From almost the moment we boarded, Tom, Ismay, and the senior officers from the Titanic have been working to piece together the events of the night in an effort to determine what happened. What caused the damage? What was the extent of the damage? That's where he is right now, Tom, I mean. Of course, I wanted to join them, but everyone insisted that I rest. It's likely for the best; they're asking questions I probably already know the answers to._

* * *

A knock at the door interrupted Brynne's writing. She turned in her seat to face the door. "Come in."

The stewardess entered with a loaded food cart. "I've come with your lunch, Mrs. Andrews," she said, carefully guiding the cart into the room.

Brynne closed her journal, rose from her seat at the table, and walked over to the bed. As she deposited the notebook on the bed, she asked, "Have you, by any chance, run into Mr. Andrews today?"

"I did, ma'am," the stewardess replied. She began to prepare the small table for lunch, carefully positioning drinking glasses and plates on the table. She neglected to lay out a table cloth, which didn't surprise Brynne. With everything that had happened, and with all the extra bodies onboard, she could think of other, more useful ways to use clean linen.

The stewardess continued. "He's planning to take lunch with you here in the stateroom."

Brynne reclaimed her seat. Before she was even settled at the table, the stateroom door opened, and Andrews entered. "I was hoping I was on time," he said with a grin.

"It looks like you're right on time," Brynne said.

Andrews leaned down and kissed Brynne before taking his seat across from her. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Much, much better, thank you," Brynne replied. "I really do think you're making too big of a fuss over me."

"Brynne, you suffered a serious injury," Andrews said. "You need to rest."

"But I feel fine now," Brynne insisted, and she did. At the same time, she knew that Tom was right. She was at the mercy of 1912 medicine. She'd only undergone physical examinations from Dr. O'Loughlin and the Olympic's physician. Without the benefit of a CAT scan, she couldn't know how serious the damage had actually been.

Resigned, she plucked her napkin from the table and spread it across her lap. "How has your morning been?" she asked.

"We're still comparing notes, trying to figure out where everything started to go wrong," Andrews said.

"Have you made any progress?"

"Some," Andrews said. "We're trying to determine whether the ship actually did break in two. There have been numerous reports and observations that she did." He sighed. If they found evidence that the Titanic had broken in half, Brynne knew Tom would take it a black mark against his design and possibly even his skill as a designer.

Even in the 21st century, experts who'd studied the Titanic for years disagreed on what exactly had caused the break-up. Before the discovery of the wreck, there was a healthy debate about whether the ship had even broken up at all. One reason for the lasting debate was the fact that none of the people onboard who were in a position to authoritatively explain what happened that night survived. The other reason was that the ship was 2 ½ miles below the surface of the Atlantic. Despite the fact that the important authorities survived, the ship was still at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean, and without examining the ship, no one would ever have all the answers.


	2. April 19, 1912

April 19, 1912

_Waldorf-Astoria hotel_

_11:15 P.M._

_We arrived in New York last night. As expected, there were throngs of reporters waiting for us at pier 54. Senator William Alden Smith was there waiting for us, as well. Before we even set foot in the terminal, one of his aides presented us with a summons to appear before a Senate hearing at the Waldorf-Astoria hotel this morning. _

_We were both called to testify before the Senate Committee on Commerce and spent nearly the entire day there. It was circus. The meeting room was full of spectators, including the media. Senator Smith certainly hadn't helped matters. It was a difficult day for all involved. I've never seen Tom so angry._

* * *

* * *

---

"It's nothing but a giant farce," Andrews said, slamming the door closed behind him as he stepped into the hotel room after Brynne.

"They just want to get to the bottom of it all," Brynne said. She removed her hat tossed it to the bed.

"They want someone to blame," Andrews countered. "It's a witch hunt. I cannot believe the audacity of that Senator Smith. To even suggest that somehow you were responsible … it's ridiculous. I had half a mind to reach across the table and give him a piece of my mind. He tried to use your relationship with me to discredit the firm's work."

"I know. He tried to depict me as some inexperienced ditz with too much influence and responsibility. He basically said that I compromised your judgment, which led to design flaws." Brynne walked over and sat on the loveseat near the window.

"There were design flaws, but you didn't cause them." Andrews sat down beside Brynne on the sofa.

"No," Brynne concurred. "Ismay did."

"Some of them, yes, but there were others that he had nothing to do with." Andrews looked at Brynne. He didn't have to say aloud that he was worried. It was in his eyes.

"I know," she said. "This has the potential to turn out quite badly for the firm, doesn't it?"

"For us, too," Andrews added. These hearings didn't carry any legal ramifications, as they weren't courts of law; but the social and professional consequences could be devastating. If this committee determined that the firm was largely at fault due to faulty design by the Harland and Wolff, the firm might never recover. Even if the firm survived, the men responsible for the Titanic's construction were unlikely to come out of it unscathed. Their reputations would be irreparably ruined Andrews's career would likely never recover.

Brynne sighed and took Andrews's hand. "Well, one thing's for sure – sitting up and ruminating over it isn't going to get us anywhere, is it? It won't solve a thing; it'll only make us feel badly. It might be what Smith and the others want to do, and it might be what they want us to do, but we're not going to play that game."

Brynne stood and took a few steps over to the bed. She held out her hands to him, beckoning him to come to her. Andrews obliged. He stood and walked over to her, taking her hands.

Brynne gazed into Andrews's brown eyes. "If Ismay had listened to you in the first place, no one would be in this mess," she said. Then she kissed him. Her lips still within an inch of his, she added, "You're the last person who would ever be at fault. I hope you know that."

"I don't know what I would do without you, Brynne," Andrews said. "I can't believe how close I came to losing you."

'You have no idea,' Brynne thought, for if she'd succeeded in her mission and traveled through the link, she would've disappeared from his life forever.


	3. September 28, 1912

_September 28, 1912_

_9:15 a.m._

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Harland and Wolff_

_If anyone had told me in April that Harland and Wolff would be as busy as we were six months ago, I would never have believed them. But we are, thanks to Britannic and Olympic. Harland and Wolff was fortunately spared by the inquiries. We were cleared of any direct responsibility for the disaster. The Titanic was found to have inherent flaws, but the actions of the Titanic's officers were judged to have a more direct impact on the events of that night. Captain Smith was found to have been responsible for the speed at which the Titanic was traveling, which was deemed excessive, given the icy conditions of the night. However, both committees determined that his actions that night prevented the incident from becoming a tragic disaster. Any loss of life is tragic, and that night we lost nearly a hundred lives. But we all know it could've been much worse._

_The same design flaws in the Titanic were also inherent in the Olympic, so she currently sits in dry dock beside her sister Britannic while we make the upgrades necessary to make her safer for sea travel. In the mean time, I'm settling into life here in Belfast and at the Firm. As unsettling as I find it at times, I find myself thinking about my old life less and less. With each day that passes, the chances of me returning to that old life grows smaller and smaller. There was a time when that fact would have scared the living daylights out of me. But now, the prospect of spending the rest of my life here isn't nearly so daunting. It's actually quite pleasant to think about._


	4. November 28, 1912

_November 28, 1912_

_10:32 p.m._

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Dunallon_

_As I looked at the calendar this morning, I had the fleeting realization that I hadn't celebrated Thanksgiving in two years. Today, my streak came to an end …_

_---_

Brynne's eyes flew open. Something seemed wrong, and she confirmed it when she looked at the window and saw the sun beaming brightly through the window. Sarah usually came to wake her before dawn on weekdays. Today was Thursday.

Brynne ripped the covers away from her body and bolted out of bed, her eyes on the mantle clock above the fireplace. It was nearly nine. She was usually at the office by 7:30 or 8, at the latest. What had happened to the Sarah? And why hadn't Thomas woken her?

"Sarah!" Brynne called out to the maid, hoping she was within earshot. "Sarah!" She hurried over to the dresser and examined her reflection in the mirror. Of course she was a mess.

The bedroom door opened, and Sarah stepped calmly into the room. "Yes, ma'am?"

Brynne stared at the woman in disbelief. How could she be so calm? "Sarah, it's almost nine o'clock," she said. "I should have been gone nearly two hours ago. Why didn't you wake me?"

At that point, Andrews casually strolled past Sarah into the room, a newspaper in hand. "Good morning, darling," he said.

"Tom - what are you still doing here?" Brynne asked. "Why aren't you at the office? For that matter, why aren't I at the office? Why didn't you or Sarah wake me? We're going to be late!"

"We didn't wake you because we wanted you to sleep," Andrews replied.

"What?" Brynne, still confused, shook her head. "Why?"

"Have you been here in Europe so long that you've forgotten your American roots?" he asked. "Today is a holiday for your former countrymen. It's Thanksgiving, and as I was the primary reason you neglected to celebrate last year, I decided that this year shouldn't pass without acknowledging the occasion as your fellow Americans do. I'm taking the day off, and so are you. We're going to celebrate Thanksgiving, with a big American feast and everything. I even invited the O'Reillies to join us."

Brynne stared at Andrews in stunned silence. She didn't know who the O'Reillies were, and her reasons for panic had just shifted. "We're having guests?!"

"Gerald and Myra were the best man and matron of honor at our wedding," Andrews said. "I'd hardly consider them guests."

Brynne forced a little smile. "Of course, dear. I don't know where my mind was. I suppose I was thinking about all the preparations that need to be made for their arrival this evening. There's so much to do. I need to come up with a menu, get the house ready, get myself ready – and all in a matter of hours."

"No, no no," Andrews said, gently caressing her arms. "You don't have to do worry about anything today but relaxing."

"But what about all that needs to be done for this evening?" Brynne asked. "All the preparations?"

"Don't worry about that. It's already being taken care of. Isn't it, Sarah?"

"Yes, sir," Sarah said. She looked at Brynne with a reassuring smile. "You really don't have a thing to worry about, ma'am."

* * *

Thomas and Brynne greeted Gerald and Myra O'Reilly at the front door a few minutes past six that evening.

"There's the happy couple," Gerald said, greeting Andrews with a hug. "I can't believe it's been seven months already since the wedding."

Myra beamed at Brynne and enveloped the her in a big hug, too. "Brynne, you look just as lovely as you did on your wedding day," she said.

"Thank you so much for the kind words, Myra," Brynne said. "And thank you for coming to our home."

"We wouldn't have missed this for the world," Gerald said. "As soon as Tom told me what he was planning, I told him Myra and I would be happy to be here."

"Won't you two come in?" Brynne invited, stepping to one side so that Myra and Gerald could enter.

---

The cook and the other house staff had prepared a lovely set up for the Thanksgiving meal, certainly one of the fanciest that Brynne had ever seen in her lifetime. It had been a traditional Thanksgiving dinner, with a roast turkey and all the classic trimmings.

"I know your schedules are rather hectic," Myra said as the group moved from the dining room to the parlor to take after-dinner coffee. "But I was wondering if you have considered whether you'll be traveling at all this winter?" She and Gerald settled down onto a small sofa.

"Myra … " Gerald said in almost an admonishing tone. "I'm certain Tom and Brynne would appreciate it if you didn't mettle in their affairs."

Andrews offered a small grin as he and Brynne sat in the two armchairs on either side of the sofa. Myra continued, practically ignoring Gerald's suggestion. "I don't wish to bring up unpleasantness, but I know your honeymoon wasn't ideal."

"It wasn't," Andrews began, "but we consider ourselves lucky to have made it out alive with each other. A hundred others weren't as fortunate."

"As far as I know, we weren't planning any trips any time soon. The only thing set in stone is Britannic's maiden voyage, and that won't be for another year and a half, at least. We're bound to go _somewhere_ before then, though." Brynne said, turning her eyes to Andrews.

"Our entire marriage to this point has been eventful, with the Britannic and the refits of the Olympic." Andrews said. "And then there was the whole ordeal with the inquiries."

"Well, at least you had a beautiful wedding," Myra said.

"This is true," Gerald said. "It was a magnificent day."

"You made such a beautiful bride," Myra gushed at Brynne. "I never heard the story of how Tom proposed. How did it happen?"

Brynne blanched. She had no idea how Andrews had proposed. What the hell was she supposed to say?

"Well …" she began, "Tom tells the story so much better than I do." She looked to Andrews for salvation, which he unknowingly provided.

"It was the week before the new year," Andrews began. "We'd only been courting for a few months, but I didn't need a long time to figure out that this was the woman for me. I would've asked her sooner, but I didn't want to scare her away.

"We were at the firm, and I asked Brynne to come into my office because I wanted her opinion on something. When she came in, I had the Titanic's deckplans spread across my worktable, as usual. I closed the door and asked her if there was anything she wanted to change about the Cafe Parisien ..."

---

"_No, I don't think so," Brynne said. "The plans I last submitted to you were my final draft."_

"_Why don't you take a look at the plans again, just to make sure?" Andrews suggested._

_Brynne walked over to Andrews's work table, located the plans for A-deck, and picked up a magnifying glass. As she began studying the schematics for the Cafe, she paused suddenly and looked up at Andrews. "Thomas, what is this?" she asked. "These aren't my plans."_

"_I know. I made a few additions," Andrews said. "What do you think about them."_

_Brynne looked down at the plans again and said, "But it says 'will you marry me?'" _

"_I know," Andrews said. "So what's your answer? Will you?" _

_When Brynne turned and looked at Andrews, he was down on one knee, presenting a ring._

---

Brynne looked down at the rock on her ring finger. One more piece of the puzzle that comprised her life had been solved. But it still didn't seem like enough. She needed to know more. She could go on like this, gleaning bits of information here and there, but she wished there was someway to learn everything all at once.


	5. January 3, 1913

_January 3, 1913_

_3:43 p.m._

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Harland and Wolff _

_With the beginning of the new year, I've essentially given up hope of being extracted by COSI. Not that this is a terrible thing, but it leaves me with so many questions. I wondered if what kept them from retrieving me. Could they not find me? If they have the ability to find me, what's preventing them from acting?_

---

Brynne put the finishing touches on her latest journal entry and closed the notebook. There was still a pile of work to be tackled before the end of the day. That is where her thoughts should've been focused, rather than ruminating over COSI. Releasing a sigh, she resolved to turn her attention away from her former life to focus on the deck plans of the Britannic that were now splayed across her desk.

But her old life just wouldn't leave her alone. A flickering light in front of her desk caught her eye. It was a light she recognized and had last witnessed nearly a year ago. She would know it anywhere: it was the light of an opening temporal link, something Brynne had largely given up hope of ever seeing again.

They'd found her after all.

Brynne's rescuer emerged from the link, and Brynne froze as she saw herself returning her stare. Looking at this woman was like looking in the mirror for Brynne. Her thoughts returned immediately to the imposter she'd searched the decks of Titanic for.

Brynne stood and walked around to the front of her desk. "Who are you?" she asked, a certain hardness in her voice and her body poised for defensive action. If this was the mystery woman she and COSI had been searching for, there was no telling what kind of damage the woman was here to perpetrate now.

"I'm you," replied the other woman, who wore 21st century clothing. Brynne noted that the garments seemed identical to an outfit in her closet back in D.C.

"You're an imposter," Brynne said. She slowly circled the other woman, looking for tell-tale physical signs of the supposed fraud but finding none. "A damned good imposter, but an imposter, still," Brynne added.

"I'm not an imposter," the other woman said. "I can understand why you would think that, but it isn't true."

"If you're not an imposter, then how do you explain yourself, the way you look?" Brynne asked.

"I'm you - from a parallel existence," the woman said. "I was there in 1912 before you. And I left the Titanic right before you arrived."

Brynne eyed the other woman warily. "If that's true, that you're from an alternate existence, how do you even know about me? You should be oblivious to me."

"It's a long story."

"I haven't got anything but time, in case you haven't noticed."

The woman sighed heavily. "Mind if I sit?" She asked, indicating one of the empty chairs in front of Brynne's desk.

"By all means," Brynne replied. She waited for the other woman to take a seat before sitting in the remaining seat beside her. She watched the woman, waiting for her to begin her tale.

"I told you I'm from an alternate existence," the woman began. "It turns out that it's not _completely_ separate. Our two timelines, our two histories, intersected when you traveled through the link for your second mission."

"We were having some issues with the links," Brynne revealed cautiously. She paused before continuing, weighing weather she should say any more. She reasoned that if she wanted to hear anymore from this woman, she would probably have to be more willing to share what she knew and what she'd experienced. "A virus had disabled them, and they thought sending me back through a temporary link might lead help us find out, and possibly catch, whoever was responsible. I remember that the link looked different that time. The color was off. I thought it was because a different type of link."

"It _was_ different," the other woman said. "Different in that it linked to a parallel reality rather than to the past of your own reality. Your virus must have messed things up more than you realized."

"Apparently so," Brynne said. She was becoming more comfortable with this woman, even though it was strange to be talking to face-to-face with someone who purported to be, well, herself.

"I don't know how it happened, but we both traveled at the exact same moments."

Brynne realized now why no one had come for her. If this woman, this other Brynne, had returned in her place, Payton and the others had no way of knowing that she was still in the past. As far as they were concerned, Brynne had returned as planned, and everything had worked out fine.

"So, you came here from the future, then," Brynne said.

"Yes," the Other Brynne said, "but not your future. Our histories merged temporarily, but as soon as I returned and you remained in the past, they separated again. I went back to my own reality, and you stayed and changed yours."

'So much for my little theory,' Brynne thought. "So, does _my_ COSI even know I'm still here?"

Other Brynne nodded. "Most likely. They're probably just waiting for an ideal time to extract you. They can't do anything that will have a significant impact on the timeline, you know."

"I know, I know," Brynne said, waving aside Other Brynne's concerns. "Everything is beginning to make a lot more sense to me now. Do you know why I came back to 1912 a second time?"

"You said you came back to look for the person responsible for the virus."

"Yes, but we thought that one of those responsible was someone pretending to be me, someone with my face. I was there looking for someone who looked like me. After completing my first mission, some of the people at headquarters found a photograph, of me supposedly, posing in front of the Gigantic. I knew it couldn't have been me because I don't remember taking the picture; and anyway, I couldn't have since the picture was taken after I returned to the 21st century. They sent me back to find the so-called imposter and a man we think was her accomplice. It was you, wasn't it?"

Other Brynne, bewildered, shook her head. "Not this time," she said. "I went back to the future way before Gigantic was launched."

Brynne hadn't expected that to be the Other Brynne's answer, and all she could do was laugh. "I guess that puts me back at square one again," she said.

"Maybe it _is_ you," Other Brynne suggested. "You know how paradoxes can make things all muddled. Perhaps the woman in the picture is you from 1913, in this current timeline you're currently creating. That would explain why you don't remember it."

Brynne stood, and her brow furrowed as she considered the prospect for a moment. "I suppose," she said. She began to slowly pace around the office. She stopped suddenly, realizing that Other Brynne still hadn't answered a very important question she's posited earlier. "If you went back to your own timeline at the same time I came through, how did you know about me?"

"After I crossed through the link, I noticed that my watch had picked up some weird readings. It showed evidence of two identical time signatures passing through the link at the same time, each going in the opposite direction. Packard and some of the other scientists at headquarters examined the data, and they came up with the parallel realities theory."

"If this all happened because of some weird, once-in-a-blue moon phenomenon, how are you back here now?"

Other Brynne shifted in her seat. "I had Packard recreate it for me," she said. "We couldn't pick an exact date, but we got the right year. It was a risky move, but we knew that if we aimed for anytime after April 1912, we'd find you somewhere. That left us with a very big window to work with."

Again, Brynne began to pace slowly. "So, let me get see if I understand this correctly: you're from a parallel future, and you and I caused our separate universes to become one in the same momentarily when we inadvertently linked at the same time."

Other Brynne nodded. "That's right."

"I'm glad you've told me this, but there's still something I don't understand," Brynne said. "Why come all the way back here and risk contaminating the timeline just to tell me this? What's it to you? It can't just be for your peace of mind."

"I came here to help you," Other Brynne said, finally standing. "Look, you're part of me. No - you _are_ me, and I couldn't bear the thought of simply leaving you here to wander through this minefield of an existence without knowing your history here, especially since I'm part of the reason history was changed for you. I was here living this life before you. I experienced everything you're supposed to remember about your relationship with Andrews."

"That's another thing I don't understand about this whole thing," Brynne said. "How did you end up marrying him in the first place? What happened to Helen Barbour? Did you break them up?"

"No, that happened before I got here," Other Brynne said. "I didn't change anything there, that's the way it always was - Helen and Thomas separated, and Andrews died a bachelor when the Titanic sank. Isn't that the way it happened in your history?"

"No," Brynne replied. "In my history, he was supposed to have been married to Helen. They even had a little daughter together. That's the way it was supposed to have been. I suppose now that my history is your history. Are you going to tell me about what happened between you and Tom?"

"No," Other Brynne said. "I'm going to do better than that. I'm going to show you."


	6. January 3, 1913 continued

_January 3, 1913_

_4:56 p.m._

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Harland and Wolff_

_Despite everything I've been through with COSI and knowing what they are capable of, I still couldn't believe it when I found myself standing beside myself, literally, as this other woman who looked, talked, and acted like me explained everything that had happened to me. It all sounded completely absurd … but at the same time, it made so much sense._

_My future self stepped it up a notch and actually took me back in time. We went, and I stood by and watched Tom's proposal to a third version of myself. The scenario unfolded just as Tom had described it to the O'Reillies at our Thanksgiving dinner. But this was only the beginning._

_

* * *

_

"I still don't understand how they can't see us," Brynne said, looking on as Andrews proposed to a third version of herself. Brynne kept expecting them to turn and look at her and Future Brynne.

"Does it matter?" Future Brynne asked. "They can't see us, and that means we can watch whatever we want without any consequences. We could stay here all day if we wanted … but there's something else you probably want to see more than this." Future Brynne took Brynne's hand and activated the link. The light that Brynne, until today, hadn't seen in nearly a year flashed into existence and once again offered her a corridor to another time and place.

The two Brynnes entered the link and emerged in a church filled with people, all dressed splendidly. They'd stepped out of the link between two of the last pews in the room, and they moved toward the aisle for a better look at their surroundings. A minister stood at the pulpit. Just in front of him and a few paces to the right stood Tom, who was dressed impeccably. He and everyone else expectantly gazed at the sanctuary entrance at the rear of the church.

Future Brynne and Brynne turned around and looked behind them at the entrance. The double doors slowly opened outward, revealing a silhouette in a long, full gown. A pianist at the front of the sanctuary momentarily paused his playing. When he resumed, the tune that reverberated throughout the room wasn't the traditional wedding march tune "Here Comes the Bride." Instead, it was a slow piano solo that Brynne didn't recognize. On cue, the entire audience stood.

"It's called 'The Portrait'," Future Brynne whispered.

"What?" Brynne asked.

"The music," Future Brynne clarified. "The song is called 'The Portrait'."

"It's beautiful," Brynne said, staring intently at the figure in the doorway. The figure began to slowly move out of the shadows and into the sanctuary.

"It's me," Brynne said, as if she hadn't already known it would be her. The identity of the figure was confirmed as she moved forward into the sanctuary. Brynne and Future Brynne watched Bride Brynne slowly stroll past them down the aisle toward Andrews.

"I know there's no way for me to actually feel what she's feeling," Brynne began, her eyes still on herself, "but this is a hell of a lot closer than I was before. She couldn't take her eyes off the sight of herself in that wedding gown.

"This is more than I could have ever anticipated," she continued. "Thank you for this."

* * *

Brynne and Future Brynne exited the link a final time and stepped into Brynne's office at Harland and Wolff.

"I have one more question to ask you," Brynne said.

"What is it?" Future Brynne said.

"Am I stuck here?" Brynne asked. "I mean … is COSI ever coming back for me?"

Future Brynne hesitated. She seemed to be struggling with something internally. Future Brynne's internal tug of war wasn't lost on Brynne, and it gave her more reason to believe that she wasn't going to like the answer to her question.

"I really shouldn't tell you this," Future Brynne began. "It's bad enough that I'm even here showing you any of this at all, but I could _really_ get into trouble for what I'm about to say. I guess I've shown this much to you, one more thing might not make a difference." She paused to consider the best way to say what she had to say, but there really was no easy or good way.

"COSI isn't going to retrieve you," Future Brynne said.

Brynne took a deep breath. The sadness that came to her as a result of that statement was immediate and immense. "I'd suspected as much," she said, fighting back threatening tears. The prospect of never going home had remained a constant possibility in her mind, but despite the growing probability of it, she'd always held out hope that COSI would eventually come for her. Now, it was official and final – she was here, in this life, for good.

"It's not what you think," Future Brynne said quickly. "They didn't give up on you, they know exactly where you are. It's that they _can't_ bring back."

"They don't have the ability to?"

"No, they do. But there's ... something you're going to be responsible for that will have a significant positive impact on your future. If they pull you out before that happens, the results are assured to be catastrophic."

"For me?" Brynne asked.

"For everyone."

Brynne shook her head. "But … but … how? I -"

Future Brynne held up her hand, cutting Brynne off. "I can't tell you anymore. I shouldn't have said anything, but I went against my better judgment because I wanted you to know that there's a reason for all of this. There's a reason for your being here."

"So, what am I supposed to do, now?" Brynne asked hurriedly. "How do I make sure this significant thing happens? How do I know what it is?"

Future Brynne thought for a moment. "You won't know it until it happens," she said. The best advice I can give you is to forget about this. Just live the life you have now. Don't think about making big plays thinking that's the way to make this thing happen. I can guarantee you it's not. Just live your life as it comes to you, and everything will work out like it's supposed to."

Just as one mystery had been solved for Brynne, another had begun. She finally had her answer as to her ultimate temporal fate. She would remain where she was. But she'd also learned that she was going to do something or be responsible for something that would, as Future Brynne made it sound, save the world from some type of severe hardship. And she was supposed to just forget about it all and live a normal life?

Not damn likely.


	7. July 3, 1913

_July 3, 1913_

_2:26 p.m._

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Dunallon_

_I'm pregnant._

_I had a feeling this would happen eventually. As … active … as Tom and I have been with each other, and with birth control the way it is nowadays, I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner. We haven't been able to keep our hands off each other. But that's as it should be between a husband and wife. There was even this one time at the office … but I probably shouldn't go into all that._

_Tom doesn't know, yet. All he knows is that I haven't been feeling well for the past few weeks. I saw the doctor last week, and he confirmed it. I'm planning to tell Tom this evening, and I'm petrified. I never planned this. I've never had any experience with children. This situation would be difficult enough in my own time; having to go through it in this time, and in my particular situation, is especially daunting. I know Tom will be ecstatic, and I would be, too … if I weren't so scared._

* * *

Brynne closed her journal and placed it between the covers of a portfolio. The work day was nearly over, and she had grown more nervous with every minute that brought 5 p.m. closer. Today was the day she would tell Tom about her condition. She dreaded doing it because saying it aloud to someone else would serve as another signal that this was really happening, as if morning sickness hadn't already accomplished that. She was going to be somebody's mother.

Andrews, donning his hat and coat, appeared in the open doorway of Brynne's office. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Brynne sighed heavily, an attempt at a calming, cleansing breath. "I am now," she said rising from her desk.

"Are you alright?" Andrews asked, eyeing her with concern as she gathered her things and placed her hat on her head. "Are you still feeling unwell?"

Brynne looked up at him and managed a smile, but the feeling that something was amiss remained with Andrews.

"I'm fine," Brynne said. "I just have a lot to think about."

Andrews nodded. He knew that something was wrong, but now he was sure he knew what it was. "We are going to have a remarkable holiday once we're all done with this ship," he said. "We'll go wherever you want and stay as long as you want." Holding a briefcase and a roll of deck plans on his left, he wrapped his free arm around Brynne's waist. "And it will be a _real _holiday, not a working trip. There'll be no deck plans, no meetings, no Ismay. It'll be just the two of us, free to go off on whatever adventure we choose. How does that sound?"

"It _sounds _marvelous," Brynne said, "but it's still a long way off."

"Well, if you want to take some time off sooner rather than later, you know it won't be a problem. I can always make arrangements if you want to take a break."

"No, I don't think that's necessary."

"I can tell you're exhausted. I'd much rather you take a break than burn-out. You're too good of an architect for us to lose you permanently."

"I'm just tired from the day's activities. It's been a long day. I'll be rejuvenated by tomorrow." She kissed him and added, "I promise," before kissing him again. "Can we please go now? I'm starving, and I'm going to waste away to nothing if we stand here talking all night."

* * *

"There's something I want to talk to you about," Brynne told Andrews as they reached the end of dinner that night. She knew that she had his undivided attention, which didn't make what she had to do any easier.

"Is it something very serious?" Andrews asked, concern lining his words.

"Yes," Brynne replied. She added, "but it isn't bad … I don't think it is, at least." She'd gone over how she would begin this conversation a thousand times in her mind. Still, she didn't feel at all prepared.

Brynne tried to get her thoughts together. How should she say this? What words would a proper lady use of this period use? Unfortunately, her COSI training had failed to cover this particular situation.

"Please don't keep me in suspense, darling," Andrews urged. "What is it?"

"I'm pregnant," Brynne said. "We're going to have a baby."

Of course it caught Andrews completely by surprise, which Brynne had expected. But when he didn't say anything for a long moment, she began to think that maybe she'd jumped the gun in assuming that he would be happy about the news.

"Brynne," Andrews said, "are you sure?"

"I saw the doctor last week," Brynne said. "The day I wasn't feeling well and stayed home from the office, I called Doctor Callahan. He came to the house and confirmed what I'd been suspecting."

"How long have you suspected it?" Andrews asked.

"A few weeks. But I had to make sure before I told you. Doctor Callahan says I'm about 6 weeks along." Brynne viewed each of Andrews's successive questions as evidence that her husband was significantly less than pleased with the developing situation. And why should it be otherwise? This had to be some of the worst timing ever to have a baby. The _Britannic_ was set to be launched in February, and there was still so much to do before then.

"This is amazing..." Andrews said. To Brynne's surprise, he rose and walked from his seat to hers. He kneeled, and honed in on Brynne's waist. "My God, Brynne – there's a person in here, our child."

"Are you upset?" Brynne asked, still unclear as to how he was receiving the news.

"Upset? No, I'm the farthest thing from it." Beaming, he raised his eyes to Brynne's. "It's a shock, without a question, but it's a good one, like you said. Good is an understatement – it's fantastic!"

He stood. "There are so many preparations to make," Andrews said, beginning to pace as his mind raced. "We have to set up a nursery, we need to hire a nurse. There's so much to do."

"You're not disappointed in the least?" Brynne asked. "This is rotten timing, you know. If we remain on schedule, the _Britannic's_ fitting out should be due to begin around the same time that this baby arrives."

Andrews stopped moving and turned to her. "We're going to have a baby, and you're worried about the _Britannic_? That should be the least of your concerns now."

"I know, but we do have to consider it at least," Brynne said. "We can't just drop everything at the firm. There's still so much to be done before the launch."

"Don't worry about the firm," Andrews said. "I'll take care of things there."

"Do you think we'll need someone to fill in for me for a little while after the baby gets here?" Brynne asked.

"We'll need someone as soon as possible," Andrews replied. "I'll start making the arrangements tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Brynne stood. "I was thinking more along the lines of January, at the earliest. It isn't as if this baby will be here anytime soon."

Andrews gently caressed her arms and hands. "Brynne, I know you want to see the _Britannic_ all the way through to the finish, but you're in a delicate condition. You don't need to risk your health, or the baby's, by being stressed out over work."

"I'm not stressed out over work," Brynne insisted. "If I've been troubled about anything, it's telling you this news. I see now that I had good reason to worry." She gently pulled her hands from his grip.

"Now, what's that supposed to mean?" Andrews asked.

"Look at what you're saying."

"What? What am I saying that's so bad?"

"You want me to quit _now_? To just leave my career at the drop of a hat?"

"It happens all the time, Brynne. This is what working women do. They leave the working world when they have children. Truth be told, most leave when they marry." As soon as that last sentence left his mouth, he immediately regretted saying it.

Shocked, angered, and a little hurt that he would throw a statement like that at her, Brynne turned and walked toward the dining room door. "Right after we got married, you told me that you didn't have an issue with me working," she said walking. "Did you mean what you said then?"

Andrews followed her. "Of course I did."

Brynne stopped at the dining room entrance and turned to Andrews. "Then, you just felt the need to throw that little tidbit in about women leaving the workforce when they marry? Why? Some part of you must wish that I had done the same."

"Brynne-" Andrews began.

She didn't give him a chance to complete his thought. "So, I suppose you didn't mean it when you said earlier that I was too good of an architect to lose."

"I meant it," Andrews said. "I meant every word."

"Then why is it an issue that I want to continue working?" Brynne pressed.

"You _know_ why it's an issue. Can't you see that things are different now?"

"How? I'm perfectly capable of working until the baby arrives," she insisted sharply. "I was perfectly capable this morning, before you knew, and I'll be perfectly capable tomorrow. Informing you of my condition does nothing to change it."

"Brynne, the work is not important, you are. We can get someone else to do the work. What you need to focus on is staying healthy. Surely, you weren't expecting to work right up to the delivery?"

"Maybe not right up to the day, but certainly for the next few months at least. I don't see any reason why it should make a difference."

"You're in no condition to work," Andrews countered.

"I'm not just going to give up my work, Tom. I've been working on _Britannic_ for over a year. You can't just expect me to abandon it."

"That's exactly what I expect," he said, stepping past her into the foyer.

Brynne didn't turn around to face Andrews, who was now behind her in the foyer. She didn't move at all. She just said, quietly, "I'm not quitting."

Andrews looked at Brynne, who still hadn't turned to face him. She couldn't see his utter bewilderment at why she would blatantly choose to put her career above the potential well being of their child. She also couldn't see the pained anger he felt, but she could hear it in his voice.

"You're going to be a mother, Brynne," Andrews said. "You must start thinking and acting like one." He left the foyer for his study, and Brynne didn't follow him. He'd barely raised his voice above a conversational level, but Brynne knew he was angry. She understood his perspective, but she couldn't let this go. His logic in this situation was uncharacteristically ridiculous. She had a good five or six additional months of work left in her.

Brynne finally turned around and faced the space where Andrews had stood only a few moments earlier. At last the huge generational differences between her and Andrews had come to light. She understood that he was a product of his time and she of hers, but that didn't make accepting the mores of 1913 any easier. Unfortunately, if she wanted to keep the peace with her husband, and she did, it looked like she was going to have to go along with it, regardless of her own desires.


	8. July 4, 1913

_July 4, 1913_

_Belfast, Ireland_

_Dunallon_

_5:08 P.M._

_Things have been quite different between Tom and I since I told him about the baby yesterday. I didn't talk to him at all after our dinner conversation. He went to his study, and I didn't see him for the rest of the night. If he came to bed at all, he must've risen and left for the office before I woke because I didn't see him this morning either. I was hoping his anger would have cooled by morning and that he would at least be open to discussing the matter with me. That's what I'd hoped, but I can't say I'm surprised that it didn't pan out that way. Of course at the firm, he barely spoke to me beyond what was necessary, and even then, he used few words and was around me as little as possible. It goes without saying that it's been a miserable day._

_And it isn't over, yet. We're going to Ardara House for dinner tonight to tell his parents the "good" news, and we'll be staying on for the weekend. I'm praying that everything goes well there, but as I did this morning, I'm steeling myself for the worst._

Ardara, Tom's boyhood home, was a stately gray, brick mansion 8 miles outside the city of Belfast. It was the home of Thomas and Eliza Andrews, Tom's parents.

After Tom and Brynne arrived, it didn't take long for the elder Andrewses to notice that something seemed different between their son and daughter-in-law. By the time everyone was around the table for dinner, it was apparent. The younger couple didn't interact with each other and barely even looked at each other.

It must have something to do with the exciting news they had to to share, Eliza thought, but what kind of news could make them regard each other so coldly? If it is good news, why are they acting like this toward each other? What kind of good news would make people act so?

"Tommy, what's this big piece of news you have for us this evening?" the elder Mr. Andrews asked.

Tom put his fork down and cleared his throat. He looked at his parents. "Brynne and I are going to have a baby," he said, a stony expression on his face.

The older couple exchanged excited, happy looks. "Why, that's wonderful news!" Mrs. Andrews said.

"It certainly is," Mr. Andrews concurred. "Congratulations are certainly in order."

"I was afraid something might be wrong," Mrs. Andrews admitted.

"What gave you that idea?" Tom asked.

"Your current expression is one clue," Mrs. Andrews said. "You should be overjoyed with this news, yet you both seem so melancholy. Is anything wrong? You do want this child, don't you?"

"Oh, of course we do," Brynne replied. "As much as anything we've ever wanted for each other."

"Then what could you possibly have to be sad about?" Mr. Andrews asked.

Brynne averted her eyes and looked down at her salad as she answered. "It isn't important. Just a little disagreement we've been having. It's silly really, and it's hardly an issue anymore."

"Disagreement?" Mrs. Andrews repeated. "Over what? Names for the baby?"

"Over whether it's appropriate for Brynne to continue working now that we are aware of her condition," Tom revealed. "I think she should immediately resign from the firm."

Brynne looked at Tom. "And I agree," she said, earning a surprised look from him.

"You do?" he asked.

"I do," she said. "That's why I considered it a moot issue. I've thought it over, and I realize that if I want to maintain a happy home, some sacrifices are in order on my part. I'll quit the firm."

Tom said smiled at her for the first time in nearly 24 hours. "You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that," he said.

Brynne offered a lackluster smile in response. Then, she put her fork down. "I'd really like some fresh air now, if you all don't mind."

"What about dinner?" Tom asked.

"I've no appetite at the moment," she said with a small smile. "I think the evening air will help restore it." She stood, Tom and Mr. Andrews following suit. "If you all would excuse me."

"Do you want me to come with you?" Tom asked.

"No, I'll be fine by myself." She hurriedly left the dining room, denying Tom the opportunity to protest that he should join her. He reclaimed his seat, watching her retreating back disappear out the dining room door.

Brynne found herself in the garden at the rear of the house. When she'd been at the dinner table speaking to Tom just now, it had taken everything in her to put on a happy face and not burst into tears. But now she was alone - it didn't matter anymore, so she let the tears fall freely.

At what point had she grown so attached to the firm and her work there that the prospect of leaving would cause her to shed tears? But work was only one reason she didn't want to go through with this. She'd always promised herself that she wouldn't be one of those women who gave up who she was, or even only parts of herself, just to please a man. But here she was, having done exactly that. That was the hardest thing of all, giving up something that had become an integral part of her identity.

She would get over this eventually. Maybe. In the best-case scenario, her child would fill the void created by the absence of her work at the firm. At worst, a little bit of a void would always remain, and the new little one would serve as a constant reminder of what could have been and what would never be.

Mr. Andrews's study overlooked the garden, a fact unknown to Brynne. He had a clear view of his daughter-in-law from the large window behind his desk, and what he saw gave him cause for concern.

Tom stood at his father's bookshelf, perusing the collection for newly-acquired titles. He didn't see what his father saw out the study window.

"Are you quite certain that this little tiff between you and Brynne has been resolved?" Andrews asked his son.

"You were there at dinner," Tom said. "You heard it from Brynne's own mouth. It's done with."

"I'm not so sure all is at it seems," Andrews said, indicating the window. Tom, an open book in his hands, joined his father at the desk. He peered down at the garden and saw Brynne sitting alone on a stone bench.

"In fact, think you're wrong," Andrews Senior added.

"About what?" Tom asked.

"About everything. About her wanting things to be this way, about your position against her continuing to work."

"But why would she agree to it if it isn't what she wants?" Tom asked.

"You have a lot to learn about being married, son. She obviously thought it more important to preserve your happiness and her family than to preserve her own desires and her career. It's obvious to anyone with eyes that this is not a happy woman."

Tom peered down at the garden again. He wasn't close enough to see the details of Brynne's face, but he had to admit that she did appear to be a little down. The usual energy about her just wasn't there anymore.

"If your goal in keeping her from working was to prevent stress, I'd have to say you failed," Andrews Senior observed. "Your actions and beliefs seem to have caused the girl a great deal of stress, I suspect."

Tom shut the book in hands and set it down on his father's desk. "She's just so ... unconventional."

"You knew she was unconventional when you married her, Tommy," Andrews said. "Finding out about her condition was just as much a surprise for her as it was for you. Did you honestly expect her to just change at the flip of switch?" Andrews took a step closer to his son. "When she married you, she did so believing you accepted her - all of her - for what she was. Did the two of you ever even discuss having children?"

"We would have eventually. It just never came up."

"So, before any of this happened, you never discussed what you expected of her in this type of situation?"

"So, what am I to do? Sacrifice my core beliefs to keep her happy?" Tom asked.

"I didn't say that," Andrews said. "But it's worth noting that that is exactly what she was willing to do for you. Moreover, I'm saying that since neither of you had a plan for how to approach this, you both must compromise. It may seem like more work than the alternative, but it's worth it if you don't want your wife to be miserable. Or even worse - resentful."

When Tom walked into the garden, Brynne was still sitting by herself on the bench. Her back was to him, and she didn't see his approach.

"Brynne," he said softly so that he didn't startle her.

Brynne lifted her head but didn't turn to the direction of the voice. She took a moment to compose herself before standing and facing him.

Instantly, Tom felt like the biggest jackass in all of Ireland. He hadn't been able to see it from his father's study, but from this vantage point, and with the aid of the light from the nearby gas lamp post, it was obvious that Brynne had been crying.

"I don't know why flowers affect me so," Brynne said with a sniff and a quick attempt to wipe her watery, puffy eyes. "They always seem to wreak havoc with my sinuses."

Tom was silent as he tried to find the words to make this situation right again. Realizing that there would be no perfect words, he resolved to begin the best way he knew how.

"I've been so terribly misguided," he said.

"By whom?" Brynne asked. "About what?"

"By myself, mostly, and the social conventions of the world in which we live," Tom answered. "And I'm afraid the victim of my misguided ways has been you. All this time, I've been trying to protect you from the harm I believed you would suffer by continuing to work, and it turns out that this whole ordeal has caused you so much stress, perhaps more so than working ever would. In effect, I've caused the situation I'd hoped to avoid, a fact which my father has been good enough to point out to me.

"I know this isn't what you want, to quit the firm now, even though you say it is," he continued. "I know better. I know you better. I should have realized it at dinner, but I couldn't see past my own wants. I've been such an idiot. Your work means as much to you as mine does to me. It's part of you. I don't want you to be unhappy for my sake. Furthermore, what I want should be secondary; it's you that has to stay healthy and sane to have this baby. I know I'm babbling on, but what I'm getting to is that I'm so sorry, Brynne. And I want you to do what makes you happy."

"Really?" Brynne asked.

"I want you to be happy. I mean it. If that means staying on at the firm, wonderful. I'm for it. I just don't want you to be upset anymore."

Brynne hurried around to the other side of the bench and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

**_AN: That does it for Volume 1, but Volume 2 is coming right up! Until it arrives, don't forget to go to .com/ for updates and other information about "The Journal", "Fumbling Toward Ecstasy", and other stories, including SOUNDTRACK info! _**


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